


Adult Supervision

by BetterBeMeta



Series: Transformers Prime: Shattered Glass [2]
Category: Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Gen, Poor Mr. Scream, Transformers Prime: Shattered Glass, in which Starscream has real reasons for being preposterous, obligatory detention episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6230554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetterBeMeta/pseuds/BetterBeMeta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his parents forget him afterschool in detention, Rafael Esquivel dials Starscream for help. Taking this as an excellent opportunity to test out new technology, Starscream heads undercover to try and extract his young human friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adult Supervision

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Talent](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/181375) by Editoress. 
  * Inspired by [Delicate](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/181420) by Editoress. 
  * Inspired by [More Than a Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514203) by [suddenlycomics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suddenlycomics/pseuds/suddenlycomics). 



> This is another original "episode" in the vein of Follow the Leader: an alternate Transformers Prime where the morality is flipped to make the Decepticons the protagonists, and the Autobots the antagonists. This time, less of an action/adventure and more of a comedy or relief installment.
> 
> Avi is owned by Editoress.

Most who met Commander Starscream might not initially mark him an academic type. Science, or it so was stereotyped on Cybertron, called for a certain enlightenment of mannerism. In a sense, analytical serenity. Most Decepticons dismissed this as mere propaganda:  classist and functionalist rhetoric that existed to disqualify those typed as more _base_ away from higher learnings. To take the studious Shockwave as a template, one might conclude that Starscream lacked the patience for organized and efficient lab work.

As it so happens, Starscream absolutely loathes being told he is lacking in anything at all. One popular rumor went that the Commander took up research and development purely out of spite one vorn and never let it slip out between his servos. Not out of the question: over the course of the long war, even Lord Megatron himself had turned to study in checking the oppressive Autobots. Though the Decepticon Leader concerned himself mainly with tier-alpha threats, biomech weapons, and other mass-pacification tactics. By contrast there were some that might dismiss Starscream’s work as mere toys.

But oh, no.

Not Starscream himself. To the mech, every breakthrough was revolutionary. Every minor advance in theory or implementation worth a victory flight. And of course, every being that dwelled aboard the _Nemesis_ would hear about it in real time.

 

> _FWD: <ALL>, ATCH: <COMMAND>_
> 
> _> >STARSCREAM:_
> 
> _After much labor and study on my part, and appreciated cooperation with medical officer Knock Out, I am pleased to report phasing of long-range holomatter broadcast is now complete. This message marks official release of v1. Enclosed to Decepticon Command are complimentary copies of my work, of course, to test and enjoy at your leisure. Others may personally contact me for an opt-in copy. I am graciously looking forward to your feedback._
> 
> _Glory to the Decepticons!_
> 
> _Wing Commander Starscream, 2nd in Command, Chief NEMESIS R &D Officer, Seeker Command_

Starscream’s smirk cleared nearly his entire faceplate as he pressed send on this all-hands message. Then, he leaned back to wait. Surely, it would not be long now…

Ding!

There! Yes! One reply already.

 

>   _> >DREADWING: When would one need this?_

Starscream began composing a lengthy reply on the potential of long-range holomatter transmission, especially on a world with so much infrastructure inaccessible to anyone larger than miniform. Halfway through, he received another note.

 

> _> >KNOCK OUT: looks like I’ll be able to do more than get out of myself and take a leak on the next human to key me!_

Starscream ventilated loudly.

 

> _> >MEGATRON: An interesting novelty, though I expect my use of it will be limited. Keep me informed._

And once _he_ had weighed in upon it the next to reply would be, of course.

 

> _> >SOUNDWAVE: _

“Hmph! They’ll soon grasp its importance,” Starscream grumbled to himself. “At least there is one being that might see _genius_ for what it is.”

It was simple to contact Rafael Esquivel's cell phone despite that the Nemesis sat outside common carrier range. That had been among his first projects after meeting the boy, after all. An emulation and extension of Earth's simple technology. Why, it was only reasonable to secure future contact at any time he might need to make it. Granted, this was not an emergency or a call for evacuation, but Starscream considered it urgent in his own way.

However, the boy did not pick up, his communications rang. Starscream instead turned to text-based alert.

\--

Rafael Esqivel quickly hid his old iPhone under his desk when Mr. Ricardo walked back into the empty classroom. The last thing he needed was it taken away. Especially after he spent so much time jailbreaking it. Still, the idea of a huge jet-robot reaching through the window and picking him out of detention was looking pretty good, if totally a bad idea.

Mr. Ricardo wasn’t one of Raf’s normal teachers, but he was nice enough. In that it’s-his-job-to-be-nice-to-kids way. If he was mad about staying later at school, Raf couldn’t tell. Maybe he stayed this late every day. Who knew what teachers did? Jasper, Nevada was small enough to run into just about anyone in town, but he still had never encountered a teacher outside of school. Even with all of the wandering around alone he used to get up to.

But he couldn’t, this time, just wander on out by himself. People were always so worried letting a 12 (and a quarter!) year old go on his own. But they didn’t care if they saw him alone on the street or at the coffee shop outside of school.

“You called your parents?”

“Yes, sir,” Raf said. “Uh, an hour ago.”

“You don’t have to call me “sir,” you know,” said Mr. Ricardo. “When did they say they’d be here?”

“I don’t know,” said Raf. “Mom’s busy. I think, uh, a family friend’s coming to pick me up.”

Mr. Ricardo, though, was using his own phone then. He didn’t look to be paying much attention.  Which meant sneaking another peek at his texts.

Raf almost laid down on his desk. Starscream not only was (somehow?!) inside, but the giant robot thought he was in jail!

 

_\--_

The man that walked into Jasper Public School was tan, but not in an “off Route 66 in Vegas” way. In a possibly-mediterranean way. And his matte silver italian suit was impeccably tailored, matched precisely with expensive wristwatch and fashionable heeled shoes. Or, at least to the extent that he _very much wished_ that you thought they were expensive and fashionable. Age was so-so. The salt-and-pepper hair _could_ have been dyed to invoke authority, or he _could_ have had extensive plastic surgery to preserve his youth. But of all impressions, he was as thin as a cobra, tall, and positively glowed white-haute-couture. Or at least an aura that one familiar with showtunes might describe as, “gay, or european?”

He swaggered up to the reception desk of the main administrative office with the definitive air of one who considered himself a main administrator. “Ah, good… what is it, _evening_ , fellow human. I come for the release of Rafael Esquivel.”

The woman behind that desk, who currently was updating the school handbook for the next semester, did not move her head. Her gaze flicked upward behind cat-eye reading glasses.

“I’ll need your name and ID,” she said.

“Comma-” He paused, instead handing her a solid-light card procedurally-generated at that instant based on extant files of US Pilot’s licenses. “Hmph. Simply Starscream will do.”

“Mr. Scream, you’ll have to show me a valid _photo_ ID.”

And, grumbling, the man produced a US Passport, also procedurally-generated. Rafael had of course trivialized this youth education-sub-detention center but Starscream has beginning to see resemblance to a Trypticon jail-ward.

Unwittingly, Commander Starscream had trespassed into an even more dismal domain. For at the desk was Ms. Pierce. And this office was her lair, hers to control. Not a single morning announcement went past this desk un-proofread. Not a single piece of paperwork persisted incomplete. And tardy slips? Pretending you “forgot” yours was futile. She recorded every late student, every conduct warning, every unexcused absence right there in her neat cascading spreadsheet. Which, of course, she designed herself.

Ms. Pierce _loved_ spreadsheets.

“Rafael Esquivel doesn’t have anyone under your name listed as a guardian, emergency contact, or social service worker,” she said.

“This is absurd. I am by far responsible enough for his safety and well-being, beyond your comprehension,” Starscream said. “Suffice it to say that I am his friend.”

Ms Pierce looked up from her document, closed it, and folded her hands before her quite seriously. “Mr. Scream, I honestly would be delighted to believe that. But, and I am not sure if you need reminding of this, this is a government facility and I am a federal employee. I have been responsible for childrens’ well-being and welfare for over thirty years. And in that time, I have never been responsible for a single incident.”

She reached up to adjust her glasses.

“Not a _single_ one.”

Starscream clenched his fists. “If you’ll excuse me, I must confer with the incarcerated.”

He then made a grand show of pulling his facsimile of a very expensive but very tacky iPhone (rhinestone-studded case, screen-printed with fighter jets) and texting a 12-year-old boy.

\--

So, the good news was that Raf didn’t have to do math homework for the next month or so. Because he wasn’t allowed to pull out his laptop, the only thing to do was sheets in his workbook. Which was fine. This was easy stuff. But not the stuff you _want_ to be doing.

He scraped his chair loudly as soon as he heard his phone rumble, to disguise it.

 

\--

We can imagine that Starscream sending long texts would be bad. Ms. Pierce, though, had no patience to wait. Why bother, when all the information one needed was only two minutes away? And it did only take two minutes for Ms. Pierce to sort through every tardy slip, every doctor’s note, every permission slip under _Esquivel, R._

And there were oddly enough ten of them in the last quarter. All excused, of course. Which seemed suspicious, as when compared to _Esquivel, T._ and _Esquivel, M_. there were not nearly so many absences or early-releases and most of them remained outstanding. Either Rafael was more diligent in getting a parental signature, or...

“Mr. Scream, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot,” said Ms. Pierce, still entirely on the wrong foot. “You must understand. I have a very keen interest in protecting the children’s welfare, and the Esquivel family… is one I deem to be ‘at-risk.’”

“Oh yes,” Starscream said offishly. “I do my best to reduce risk for the boy, but there is only so much to be done.”

What an… interesting answer.

“Really? How is it that you know him, sir?”

For all his arrogance, the person Ms. Pierce assumed to be Star Scream (what a name!) didn’t keep much composure under questioning. “Hm, well, you see,” he stammered. Then he grimaced. Then he got it all together and spoke as if absolutely nothing was wrong. “Rafael is an exceptional student of particular talent. Such strengths befit an exemplary mentor.”

For Ms. Pierce to describe Mr. Scream as a red flag was an understatement. A more appropriate metaphor might be a parade of red flags, increasing in size, to a chorus of air raid horns and police sirens accompanied by a line of backup dancers full-body wrapped in caution tape.

“You should have mentioned that you are a tutor. Aside from his absence record, Rafael is a straight-A student…”

“My teaching level is highly advanced,” said the man in the well-fit suit.

“Subject?”

“Science and technology, of course,” Starscream said. “Why, did you know that Rafael has been able to comprehend high-level programming languages at the age of only three of your solar years, without specialized education or training? In fact, with my guidance—”

“Mr. Scream.”

He looked up from his tirade, the whites wide around his curiously red eyes.

“Rafael Esqivel is a twelve year old boy from a disadvantaged household. His father and mother are second generation immigrants from Puerto Rico and Mexico, respectively. His family of seven, to my records here, subsists on an annual $50,000. I can’t judge a situation from data alone but two of his four siblings enrolled here display common patterns of domestic instability.”

Starscream could only nod.

“If you have any information, _any information_ , relevant to Rafael’s well-being, I insist you share it.”

Ms. Pierce did not at that point care about the dubious legality of the question. Rafael was a minor, and she would protect him. But if there was anything to scare a man like this off, it was that. And knowledge of the law, and its extent, was a tell into this character’s true intentions.

What Ms. Pierce did not expect, though, was for this Mr. Scream to launch into an actual, painstaking list of Rafael’s grievances. It would have been so much easier to get the simplest possible answer: Mr. Scream was a child trafficker, a gang member, or someone else with interest abducting youth. The real answer was somewhere around twenty minutes long, unexpectedly detailed, and may have entirely been a lie had it not matched up superficially with dates and times of the boy’s absence and tardy record.

Despite the incredible volume of warning bells surrounding the man, Mr. Scream did seem to actually be the kid’s friend, if he was telling the truth. It was not a simple answer, or a very difficult answer, but an extremely annoying and opaque answer.

This was because it was a distraction.

\--

The first three lines of Hotel California got out before Mr. Ricardo managed to pick up his phone. Then, with some concern, the man gathered up his papers he graded.

“Rafael? I’ll be right back,” he said. “Sure, I’ll be down now…”

He didn’t put down his phone as he left the classroom. Raf swung his legs in the quiet, pulled out his own phone. His mom still wouldn’t pick up. And now Starscream wasn’t answering his texts either.

The door opened. Raf stuffed his phone under his desk again. Two people strode in, highly serious-looking. They looked like girls. One of them was tall and broad-shouldered and wore a leather jacket and a long denim skirt. The other was more petite, and had a plain jumper over a Red Cross emergency t-shirt.

“Rafael, we’re under orders to extract you,” said the petite one. Then a beat. “How do I look?”

“Uh, good,” said Raf. “But, uh… what’s going on? Who are you?”

“We do look different,” the tall one admitted quietly. “But the Commander didn’t tell you? He’s here negotiating with the warden, using remote holoform projection. He just finished working on it.”

She realized she didn’t actually answer the question. “Red Skies! It’s me, and Avi, too.”

Raf got that. He really got that, but he was staring anyway because as she said these things she seemed to be losing track of the floor and migrating upwards into the air.

“Skies! Get a hold of the collision!” Avi said. Red Skies promptly shot down into the floor. “Clipping! Clipping!”

Red Skies managed to stand properly, and did well looking embarrassed for someone who didn’t usually have two eyes, a nose, or a mouth. “Sorry. I kind of got rushed on the avatar… I spent too much time on the face, I didn’t have any left for the detection settings.”

“It looks pretty,” Raf said, which thrilled Red Skies. “But look… I know you mean well trying to rescue me, but you can’t.”

“But it’s our mission to extract you from this detention center,” said Avi.

“No! I’m not in danger. I’m just stuck at school,” Raf explained. “I’m a kid, and the school is supposed to make sure that only a family member or other person like that picks me up. Starscream means well, but…”

Raf trailed off into that silence of everybody in the room understanding the difficulties of Starscream.

“This isn’t normally a problem,” Avi said.

“I think the school is supposed to take care of me for a certain amount of time, but when school lets out it’s no longer responsible for me. Being in detention means that they have to watch me though, so the normal stuff… I don’t know.” Raf shrugged, sighed in his chair. “I don’t know all the rules. I just know that if I go missing when they’re supposed to know where I am, things’ll be bad. Everybody will get in trouble.”

“But what do we tell the Commander?” Red Skies said.

Somebody cleared their throat behind the two Seekers. Avi turned around. Red Skies turned around. Raf didn’t have to turn around because he saw Mr. Ricardo walk back into the room.

It probably had seemed like a good idea at the time, that the faces and overall avatars both the eradicons had chosen to infiltrate a school on short notice were teenage-looking.

“Uh, I can explain,” said Raf.

Unfortunately, Raf was twelve and a quarter years old and that wasn’t going to fly. Soon all three of them were sitting quietly, looking sorry for themselves with their heads down on some desks. From where Raf was sitting, he could see Red Skies clipping through her chair slightly, inching to the right as the hard-light projection reconciled with its environment.

Raf pushed his bag up against the eradicon’s chair to hide where her skirt was hanging right through the laminate.

\--

At least there were adult-size chairs in the waiting room of Jasper Public School’s main office. June Darby wasn’t a big woman, but sitting with your knees up in a kid’s chair was demoralizing.

But June couldn’t complain. She'd been able to swap her shift hours to come. A slow day at the ER was a good day.

The long-winded arguing coming out of the office, though, wasn’t exactly an added touch of sunshine. From the sounds of it, the out-of-towner that ran the afterschool computer club didn’t get along with the administrator. As it was, he was re-registering the school club, loudly, to ‘prevent such confusion.’ Which could have included anything that didn't make him out to be a perfect, flawless angel.

As soon as things calmed down in there, she thought, she would knock and ask about Raf. How he and her son had gotten so close was an unsaid question— but Jack hanging out with _anyone_ was a welcome change. Miko was a good kid, too. Her son had been much happier after getting into computer (science fiction? science?) club.

More stressed for some reason, though. She wasn't going to go there.

June waited. But she soon could see that man in there arguing for the next hundred years. Just five more minutes longer, she resolved. Maybe she could call in, actually.

As June Darby pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her scrubs, another man walked in.

If you could be so mundane about him, anyway. The doorway cleared the top of his head by only a few inches, and his shoulders filled the horizontal space. He was black. Not tan, but inky brown. June saw many people in her profession from all walks of life and had ‘gotten over’ the urge to stare at anyone or anything years ago. Even the toughest cross-country biker gangs showed up in an emergency room, and they needed stitches just like anybody else.

There were white scars that split his lips, up and down. His nose had _that shape_ , from being broken many times. When he sat down on the chair across from her, it did for him seem child-sized.

Instead of calling in, June played a round of _Pop’em_ on her phone. The man listened intently to what was going on in the office. He was amused, or angry. Some kind of storm of emotion despite that his face was steel-set.

“They’ve been going at it for a while,” June said. “It might be a long wait.”

The man, despite his intense aura of owning everything around him, looked genuinely surprised that anyone would talk to him.

“The wait will be as long, or as short, as my patience,” he said. He had a voice like a wildfire had smoke. “But you were here first. I will not challenge that.”

“Well, I’m not sure if I can move things along at all,” said June. “I’m here for one of my son’s friends. If they won’t release him to the man in there, they might not release him to me.”

He ran one huge hand over his short steely hair as if he was pushing back his impatience. “Starscream’s intentions, eager as they are, are often clouded by his ego.”

“Believe me, I understand,” June muttered under her breath. “So you’re here for the same reason.”

“To collect a dependant,” said the man. “More or less.”

“Well, I’m not here for my son.”

“But the child is depending on you.”

And June agreed, this was true in a sense. Inside the office, the person named “Star Scream” was onto talking about his extensive list of credentials for a tutor in Nye County. “You know, I was thinking of just cutting in,” she said.

And he had a toothy, roguish smile. “My thoughts exactly.”

“June Darby.” She offered her hand.

“June Darby… It’s a pleasure,” said the man, and he said it like it really was, in his tigerish way. He paused a moment before shaking her hand, as if he had to figure out what she wanted. His grip was quite firm, and despite how rough his skin was his nails were long and well-manicured. She felt their triangular points prick her wrists. “You may call me Megatron.”

Which had to be a foreign name, but June Darby had raised her son not to judge anybody by their body or ethnicity and she wasn’t about to go back on it all now.

\--

Starscream tapped his foot as the human woman entered in the data to ratify this “student organization.” After providing credential after credential, offering a _syllabus_ , and phoning in several eradicons to pose as references, Starscream could see the end of this.

“And there. That’s done. Congratulations, Mr. Scream— your club is now officially registered with the board of education. You meet off-campus Monday through Friday after school for optional attendance, with the possibility of cancellation.”

“Yes, yes, very good,” Starscream said. “Now. Release the boy to me.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr. Scream.”

“What?” Starscream’s voice rose an entire octave. “How dare you? I’ve gone through _every_ procedure you have, verified my credentials in _every_ way presented to me, and you still _refuse_ to grant me authorization!”

“There is a processing period in which your application will be reviewed and approved, or disapproved,” said Ms. Pierce. “Which should not exceed one to two business weeks. Until then, you may not claim your organization to take temporary custody of any child. And it’s not a substitute for a _written_ note, signed and dated by a parent or guardian.”

“Argh!”

Starscream threw down his ‘phone,’ which did not shatter on the floor so much as bounce an inappropriate amount for a piece of hard electronics. Ms Pierce made no effort to hide that she reached for her own speed dial to the police.

“You listen to me, human! I have had _enough_ of you, your entire establishment, your middle-management. I demand to speak to your superior! At _once!_ ”

“I’m afraid it’s well past the Tonopah office’s closing hours,” said Ms. Pierce evenly. “And it would not achieve anything. If you continue to threaten me, Mr. Scream, I must tell you that I will _not_ be bullied.”

“What do you intend to do if Rafael’s guardians don’t appear, then? Hold the boy forever?” Starscream snarled. “This is ridiculous!”

“If that’s the case, I would call the authorities to escort Mr. Esquivel home,” said Ms. Pierce. “I may do just that, to escort you from the premises before then.”

“That will not be needed,” said a voice that caused Starscream to utterly flinch. It was fortunate that Ms. Pierce turned to stare at who had just barged into her office, else she would have noticed Starscream _flicker_ from the instant of latency.

“My Lord, I mean— er, I… Sir,” said Starscream. “I… I mean no disrespect but you didn’t _really_ have to come _here_ , like _this_ , it’s...”

The person who had come in, who had spoken in Megatron’s voice and _was_ Megatron, raised one extensive, punishing eyebrow.

“I have things under control,” Starscream said.

“I’m sure you’re trying your best,” said a woman that Starscream knew to be June Darby, the ‘mother’ of Jack Darby. She looked quite compact next to Megatron’s towering holoform. “But please. Anybody outside can hear that you definitely don’t have anything under control. I don’t get called away from the ER by my son’s friends when things are under control. Now, calm down, and we’ll sort this out.”

So.

This, Starscream thought, was a human ‘mother.’ With luck, less fierce and tyrannical than Rafael’s mother, who simultaneously ignored the boy’s whereabouts yet penalized everything but full marks on school assignments.

“I am _completely_ calm, and you have no r—”

“Don’t you get snippy with me, mister,” said June, “You’ve made enough of a mess here already.”

Starscream didn’t know which was worse. How Megatron grinned, or how this _tiny_ human woman could make his oil go cold. Looking from the perspective of this projection was getting to him.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” said Ms. Pierce, who had been watching this quietly with her hands folded over her keyboard. “But what on earth is going on?”

“Ah. Enough of this,” said Megatron. He approached the administrative desk, loomed over it high enough for Ms. Pierce to push her cats-eye glasses up. “I am Megatron, and Starscream’s superior in this matter. I do not care what he has told you— he infamously takes great pains to maximize his independence, at the expense of his credibility.”

He slid a card across the desk. Starscream’s eyes went wide as he saw authorization from the U.S. Government upon it, that he hadn’t been able to fabricate himself. Ms. Pierce took this identification, turned it over, and examined it.

“This doesn’t prove anything, Mr. Megatron,” said Ms. Pierce.

“You will find my organization at the top of Rafael Esquivel’s release list, below his immediate relations,” said Megatron.

Which was impossible. Starscream knew everyone on that list from when time he'd been told and shown. Even Ms. Pierce looked doubtful. She paused a moment, looked down at her screen. Clicked. Clicked again.

“There’s a second page,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “But, it can’t…”

She clicked again. A third time. Starscream, who was standing behind the desk could see her checking the date of modification. Supposedly, an Earth year ago. This machine was encrypted and encrypted again. Starscream had already tried to break into it via it’s Wi-Fi capabilities and failed.

“Further authorization should be along shortly. If it has not arrived already.”

And sure enough, there was one new message in Ms. Pierce’s inbox. It was a letter of release. It matched the other three or four on file for the boy’s siblings. It was sent from the email address listed under the contact information for Rafael’s mother. Supposedly sent at 4:02 PM.

This had been impossible for Starscream to forge. For a myriad of reasons but not limited to that Rafael’s mother wrote her notes entirely in Spanish, which so far had been set to low-priority on his translator module.

(an oversight, Starscream lamented, that shall not be repeated. He set that language to high-priority for learning, as well as French, Hindi, and Chinese.)

June Darby, in the corner, smiled. Starscream had no idea what this Ms. Pierce thought of her. Nothing pleasant. But even Starscream could not blame her, knowing that _Lord Megatron_ , leader of the Decepticons and a _mother_ had overturned her order. Not a fate he’d wish on himself, and by extension on any being.

“Well. This all seems to be in order,” said Ms. Pierce. “I don’t know how. I haven’t heard of any Nemesis International Technology Society before today.”

“Well, there’s no need for nit-picking,” said June Darby. Then she snorted. “NITS-picking. But you probably hear that a lot.”

Starscream had not, and no one had before this moment. But he nodded sagely and thought of every time someone had pointed out belonging to a faction that called themselves the “Decepticons” seemed ominous and unwise.

“Anyway, Mr. Scream registered an official club presence… and…” Ms. Pierce searched the NITS online, only to find a professional-looking minimalist website. “Well, I’m sorry for the inconvenience. This would have been much easier if your associate had been straightforward from the beginning.”

“Starscream has many strengths,” said Megatron, in a tone of reason that had once addressed high Cybertronian bureaucracy. However forced it was.  “His eagerness and ambition are among them. But they have their place, and that place is not here.”

\--

It was weird, to walk next to Starscream. Without like, you know, having to run and still not be able to keep up. Raf had to jog a little bit, from how tall the hard-light projection was and how long the stride was. Avi and Red Skies had turned off a long block ago. Something about seeing more humans up close.

It was only a formality. Starscream didn’t have to walk at all. He wasn’t even really 'here.' Megatron’s projection had already vanished. All that was left was to walk to a private, safe groundbridge location. Then, Raf thought, he’d go home.

It wasn’t as if Starscream could give him a ride. He could turn into a jet, not a taxi.

“It’s okay.” Raf said. “You did your best to help.”

“No! It definitely is not ‘okay!’” Starscream ranted. “My entire objective was to showcase progress with long-range holomatter broadcast, and this was… was… it was a fiasco!”

“Well, the technology part is pretty cool.” Raf paused. “Actually it’s really funny. What’s it like not being giant?”

“Size is relative. No being is as large or as small as they think, it’s a matter of _scale_ and circumstance,” Starscream said. “There are— were— beings on Cybertron that would make myself as small as you can feel to me. They too would use a projection or a chosen representative to move among others a fraction of their size.”

“What makes your work new?”

“They did not have to transmit their presence at range. In fact, they would not often do so outside the confines of their own bodies. Populations lived within,” Starscream said. “Many were, for a lack of a better earthling term, _cities_.”

“Wow…” Raf had no idea how to ask his next question, but did anyway. “What happened to them?”

“They fell,” said Starscream. “As any city would, in war. Some were conquered. Some were abandoned, and were ruined. Some were destroyed outright.”

He paused.

“Others collapsed into anarchy, without competent leadership.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no. Your curiosity should be encouraged,” said Starscream. “It is one of _your_ greatest strengths.”

He said that proudly, and bitterly. His runway-model stride slowed just a bit. He’d been speeding up in frustration, and now had to wait for Raf to catch up.

“As for other cities on Cybertron? Each one would go dark, and their refugees would swarm into the next, and then the next— or be turned away. Mind you, _these_ cities had been well-established for longer than any civilization you know on Earth. Those who ruled them, well… I would say they were much like your Ms. Pierce. Living to perpetuate records and rules.”

“She was just doing her job,” Raf said.

“And I understand her concerns. They were not _entirely_ unfounded,” Starscream muttered. “No matter how _obstructive_ to me they are.”

“Well, you can make a hologram that looks like a human, but you’re not a human, so…” Raf bit his lip. “Thank you. Really! For going out of your way, I mean. Nobody does that for me. I’m not, you know, that important most of the time.”

Starscream looked offended by the idea. “It’s exactly that kind of thinking that’s the problem! That administator's priorities place your importance as an intersection of her records and rules, her success at enforcing them! They are no substitute for the judgement of a _true_ leader.”

“Is that what happened? On Cybertron?”

“Yes. At the capital of Vos, at least.” Starscream. “My peers stood by while the masses starved. It was only fair to try and take control of the situation. And they reduced it to a mere threat, a power-grab. Their refusal, of me, of the Decepticon cause, resulted in the slow death of millions trapped in the city below.”

“Did you… did you rescue them?,” Raf said, and though it was very hot in Jasper, Nevada he felt clammy and cold.

“I and others aligned with me, the first Seekers, made an attempt. That was what we sought first, you know. Survivors, justice. _That_ sort of thing.” Starscream may have thought something was funny about this, but when he smiled it was not the kind intended to go over a human face. “The Autobots framed it a terrorist assault. A coup, even! Predictably!”

“That’s horrible.”

“They have always valued the lives of law-officers, above all else. A rescue hardly would have been necessary if there had not been a small army keeping the destitute _confined._ There is a difference between leadership and mere _authority_.”

They reached the back alley between the trucking warehouse and the storage unit space three blocks down from Jasper Public School. Neither building had windows, and there was an L-bend into an unused lot out back. For any other kid, it would be a questionable location. But aside from the empty beer cans and cigarette butts, this was where the Decepticon groundbridge often was, at 2:45 PM weekdays after school let out. The trucking schedules had been manipulated to block it off at that time with an unattended 18-wheeler.

This was a special case off-schedule.

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Raf said.

“Just remember. It is absolutely in no way your fault that you have arrived later than expected.”

“Nah, they won’t notice,” said Raf. “But hey, the second-in-command of the Decepticons did.”

\--

Rafael went home. Starscream’s projection vanished.

Starscream himself roused in his own quarters from a sort of unmoving trance, feeling the energy hit and a bizarre craving for high-grade. There were worse side effects possible in mapping movement and sensory processes to some form of avatar or proxy. But thankfully not quite so bad as enduring a cortical psychic patch.

He composed himself, stood up straight, and began walking up to the bridge. Clack-clack, pedes loud on the metal and composite flooring. He strode like a mech that knew exactly what was coming and that to hide would only worsen his esteem.

The door opened. Megatron was there, staring up into the displays. He was viewing and approving mining operations, reviewing damages and the ever-worrisome energy budget. Starscream did not look forward to inheriting _that_ aspect of command. But all worthwhile things had their price.

“My Lord.”

“What is it, Starscream?”

“What is— what is…?” Starscream sputtered. “I expected you would call me to task? For wasting your valuable time, at least.”

“None has been wasted, until now,” Megatron rumbled. The Decepticon leader turned around, casting a deeper shadow against the consoles into the bridge’s gloom.

Starscream straightened up, eclipsed.

“It was not my intent to solicit your assistance. I understand that there are… greater concerns worthy of your attention, Lord Megatron. Please, forgive me for this inconvenience. It reflects poorly on m—”

“Starscream!”

The mech flinched, though Megatron made no move. He was far faster than his huge frame suggested. If he ever intended to hurt Starscream, there would be no contest. Starscream didn’t know why he expected it. He had been expecting it for countless cycles, but it had never happened. It was ridiculous to think so, even.

Megatron would never do something like that. He had been beaten in Kaon, he had been forced to beat others. He would not perpetuate that on his trusted allies.

If Starscream was a more humble mech, he would admit to himself that these feelings were guilt, and shame. That he might think himself worthy of punishment, from one with the authority to bestow it.

“I did not select you as my second to grovel,” said Megatron.

And in his mind, Starscream could list failure after failure after failure, a record as long as the war and just as enduring as any scar.

“There was no hesitation in you, to seek the boy the moment he proclaimed himself in-need. You did not doubt that you would succeed, in an unfamiliar environment and against unknown odds.”

“It was reckless, I—”

“Do _not_ interrupt me.”

Starscream riveted his mouth shut.

“These traits are why you, of my army, are worthy of this responsibility. Whatever oversights you have made,” Megatron said. “But do not forget that _I_ am responsible for _you._ ”

“Thank you, My Lord. I will not forget this,” said Starscream. “I… trust there was not any setback due to this mess?”

“The contrary. You sought to prove the worth of your work, and you have done so. It’s clear to me that to navigate this human society requires subtlety. Hone your approach.”

“I will be less careless, my Lord.”

“Careless?” Megatron scoffed. Then he turned back to his reports. “If you truly did not care, you wouldn’t even have been there.”

Starscream laughed nervously, “Yes— yes, of course.”

…

    …

        …

Much later, after the shift changed and Megatron retired to what brief berth he made, Starscream confronted Soundwave. Who had been silent on the bridge, monitoring communications the entire time, and for some time previous. He rarely stopped.

“I find it very convenient that Megatron knew exactly where to find me, and what the issue was,” the mech said.

Soundwave did not answer. His spider fingers flicked over the manual keys.

“You know that I do not appreciate you surveying me without authorization.”

Soundwave pulled up an all-hands announcement, then scrolled down to the replies, which were very familiar to Starscream reading over his shoulder.

 

> _> >MEGATRON: An interesting novelty, though I expect my use of it will be limited. Keep me informed._
> 
> _> >SOUNDWAVE: _

“I… you…” Starscream grumbled. “That does not count as official approval!”

An alert in Starscream’s private data feed pinged lazily. The mech opened it in exasperation.

 


End file.
